Toxic
by Anti-canon
Summary: "This thing with Peter- whatever it is- was never something you could have anticipated, but something you never thought to question." - A messed up AU with very dysfunctional sexual relationships. That about sums it up. :P Beware- incest ahead.


**A/N: Soooo….. I know this is pretty messed up, and I'm not even going to pretend that it isn't. :P I have absolutely _no _idea where it came from, but I do know that the song Toxic played a pretty big role in it all, so please take a listen (I like Melanie Martinez' version best). Uhm… I'd love to hear what y'all think, even if it's just "you's crazy and this here's some twisted shit" Haha, anyways! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

This _thing _with Peter- whatever it _is_- was never something you could have anticipated, but something you never thought to question.

It just happened. You could say that it was because you were vulnerable, because you were missing something inside and looking to fill the empty space any way you could. You could say it was the fire, just one more after affect that made the both of you that much more broken. You've chosen to call it pack dynamics, and that's not even really so untrue.

When he'd taken over as alpha, you'd been willful, defiant, angry. Those kinds of things don't have a place in a well-run order. If Peter wanted things done right, he'd have to subjugate. You don't lie to yourself- you know that there's any number of ways he could have taken the power, could have made you an example. This way, it's old, it's uncommon, and it was rarely ever used with family, and yet-

You don't fight him when he comes, you don't even act the part of resigned anymore. All you do is pull aside the bed sheets, bare your throat, spread your legs. The first few times it played out the way it was supposed to- the both of you snarling and biting- bodies taught with contention. Now you welcome him between your thighs, sigh softly when he stretches you, pull him in deeper, kiss him deeper, _breathe _him in deeper.

If the others have opinions on the matter, they certainly don't speak them. Still, you see the way they sometimes look at you, see the confusion, the fear of what that means you're capable of. You know that he's bedded each and every one of them, probably more than once. Believe it or not, Peter was never much of one for violence, and this way not only is an order established, but the ties are made stronger. There is no vying for power, no need to display your prominence over the others. Everyone is given their place, and the hierarchy is a silent agreement between them all. It is this thing that they share, this being owned.

You can see them all questioning it- more so because of your role than their own. They weren't born into this, don't understand how an uncle, someone who's known you your whole life, can touch you, kiss you, be _with _you like that. You don't expect them to.

You don't mind. You call out his name, climax when he touches you, go down on him when he doesn't. Sometimes it's just comfort, sometimes it's genuine lust. You don't bother with fooling yourself it isn't. You're attracted to him, his looks as much as his power. You're addicted to the things he does to you, to the way he makes you feel. It's wrong, but that only adds to the head rush.

Your own parents would have never allowed it. It's archaic, crude, and you know, objectively, that it's more than a little messed up, but none of them could hope to understand. Not truly. So you don't hold it against them. You accept their stares and their judgment and you hold your head high.

* * *

The only time they argue against, the only time they step in, is when Stiles chooses to get involved. You told him- at length you discussed it- how being with you wasn't good for him, how there were things he'd have to give up and things that _you_ couldn't. He wanted you anyway, _chose _you anyway. They all object to it, of course, but his word was final, and so they left it alone.

The two of you are happy, in a way you couldn't have imagined. It all just works. You are together most nights, and Peter never challenges the pairing. Stiles is given full status as a mate, given the respect and station he deserves, but Peter's ownership doesn't dissolve with the new bond. Some nights he still calls for you- hell, some nights you call for him, and Stiles lets it happen. He never goes against it, never calls the two of you out, never acts like it's something wrong.

It's more than a little confusing, maybe even a little troubling, but it's something that you need, and so you don't question it. A couple of years into it, he tells you anyway. He tells you, and _finally _someone else understands. You feel guilty that it sends relief running through your system and angry because you're hypocritically upset over it. Upset that some nights, when the sheriff's had a long day and too much drink and not enough sleep, he wanders into his boy's room and mistakes him for his long-dead wife.

Stiles understands because he _knows. _He knows this grief and what it can do, what it twists your life into. His transgression, that's what he's taken to calling it, might even be worse. A father and a son, laying together, finding a crooked kind of solace in this crooked sort of world. His heart beats a rabbit pulse and he looks at you with such fear when he tells you that it takes less and less drink to happen, that there's less and less pretense, that on a few occasions it's happened in the middle of the day, when they're both just lonely and unfettered by inhibitions.

After that you invite him, you let him come with you, if he likes, to have his own claim on this part of you. Peter doesn't object, after all he still gets what he wants, what he needs. When Stiles is there, everything is heightened, everything is electric. It doesn't take much to get the three of you off, to make you all crumple in a heated, soiled pile till morning. He takes away the taboo, makes it thrilling, makes your crave these undertakings in a whole different kind of way. He changes everything.

* * *

Mr. Stilinski continues his affair with his boy, knows that you know, and treats you warily because of it. Dinners with him are uncomfortable, the forced politeness between the two of you even more so. When you tell him that you're going to marry his son, that you came to ask for permission, two years later, it's there. It goes against your nature to bring it up, even to this day you and Stiles never acknowledge that the Peter situation exists, but it has to happen. You tell him that you know everything, that Stiles _told _you of his own volition.

To his credit, the sheriff looks consumed with guilt, covers his face with his hands and asks you to forgive him. You don't. Mostly because you have no right to, because you can see how it happened, how it continues to, but also because you can't. Just because you're all wrecked up inside doesn't mean you can't wish for more for Stiles, that you don't wish he wanted more- better from his life. But you do tell the sheriff the truth- that you are never going to tell anybody, that you're not going to make them stop, that it's something you can live with.

You're not sure whether that makes him more or less inclined to give you his son's hand, but you had to let him know. In the end, it takes two more months to prove to him that you're worth his boy, that you can take care of Stiles and make him happy. Then you propose, and for a little while everyone gets so swept up in it, that the darkness is forgotten. No one questions how it will work, no one tells the two of you that you're doing the wrong thing, that you have to change, that it can't work.

The ceremony is beautiful, the reception sees you all happy and drunk and carefree, the honeymoon is booked for four people, not two.

This _thing_ that all of you have- whatever _it _is- was never something you could have anticipated, but something you don't think you could live without.


End file.
